


The Lying Truth | Volume One

by mtndwells (theheartchoice)



Series: Eli Loker | Lie To Me [1]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 02, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Case, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Budding Love, Character Development, Character Study, Con Artists, Crimes & Criminals, Crushes, Deception, Denial of Feelings, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Ensemble Cast, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Femslash, First Meetings, For Science!, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Gen, Government Agencies, Lesbian Character, Lies, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Minor Violence, Multimedia, Mystery, Non-Canon Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Professors, Psychoanalysis, Queer Character, San Francisco, Slow Build, Smart Is The New Sexy, Truth, University, Unrequited Crush, soundtrack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14023221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartchoice/pseuds/mtndwells
Summary: ❛Man is not what he thinks he is. He is what he hides.❜―André MalrauxVOLUME ONEof my Eli Loker seriesThere are 3 fics in this series, all featuring Deception Detection AnalystELI LOKER.This first fic takes place about two months after the Season 1 finale ofLie To Meand serves as an alternative to Season 2. This is a slow-build romance surrounded by criminal conspiracies and cons, lies and love, friendship and drama, as well as queer characters and side relationships. The plot of this fic is rather light and focuses on interpersonal themes. This is the shortest and most tame of all three fics, but you can expectcoarse language/minor violence/sexual contentas tagged.





	The Lying Truth | Volume One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has **EMBEDDED MULTIMEDIA** including **IMAGES** and **GIFS** for characters and scenes, as well as soundtrack **MUSIC** (courtesy of Youtube. You can find the ongoing playlist for **VOLUME ONE** [**HERE**](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL1d-N59AQqzt-IOar_1Mg_icC0SrEPz30)).
> 
> **CANON CHARACTERS**
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>   
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> **ORIGINAL CHARACTERS**
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>   
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> **MAIN CHARACTERS**
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**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Two introductory scenes._   
>  (1) features two original characters; their conversation takes place _a few months prior_ to the second scene.   
>  (2) features our main man Eli; we see what he's up to _a few months after_ the end of Season 1 and Scene One. 

* * *

'.. _In other news, the President-elect announces he'll send more troops abroad_  
_as part of the Clean Sweep Initiative, to take effect during his first term in office_  
_when he is sworn in as America's new Commander In Chief on January 21st of next year..'_

 

"Do you believe this shit? Hell must've finally caught a chill." Frank hunched forward off his old sofa, Corona sweating in his palm. "It's suppose to be  _your_  job to keep knuckleheads like that  _out_  of power," he points his drink in accusation at his friend, inked symbol on his forearm barely visible and long-faded from the sun, almost camouflaged in his dark skin.

"Not my division," says Atieno, casually adjusting the button-front of his shirt, pit stains visible under his arms. His suit jacket is draped over a chair and his tie has come loose in the unseasonal November heat. 

"It's  _all_  your division. The _World_ is your division. And while you're at it, do something about this damn heatwave, huh?" 

Frank peels himself from the couch and approaches the mounted AC, smacking it to a sputter only mildly cooler air into the room. The afternoon sun leaks through folded blinds and the sounds of childhood can be heard from the neighbour's yard. He parts the shades to peer out beyond the fence.

"It's why I'm here, Frank," Atieno reaches for the control, muting the newscaster. "I need to bring you in on this." 

"I thought you just said ― " 

" ― Not  _him_. It's Zavian. He's back." 

Frank turns as Atieno joins him by the window. "I've been outta the game a  _long_  time, Atty.” His hand moves to the mark on his forearm, brushing over the faded text.

"The game remains the same." Atieno's gaze is drawn outside, head dipping slightly to glimpse shadows darting through a sprinkler arc. "New players every once in a while, but the goals haven't changed: wealth, power, dominance.." His eyes withdraw from the window to focus on Frank's arm a moment, before sweeping up to fix him with a stern look. ".. _Selfish_ ideologies."  

Frank just nods. "Mhm." He knows the ploy. Using his past indiscretions to guilt him into lending a hand, turning a cheek—whatever the situation calls for on behalf of the officially sanctioned _Good Guys_. "New players try to change the rules _._ " The blinds snap shut as he retreats to the sofa. "Y'know, maybe I oughta take a vacation. S omewhere north of the equator. I think a cool change would be nice." He gives the television its voice back and carries on sipping his ever warming beer.

 

'.. _In comments made about his agenda, the President-elect has said our nation's security front has become lax,_  
_and that he intends to take further measures in assuring the safety and wellbeing, of all Americans_ ― '

The screen goes black as Frank tosses the remote aside, having heard enough about their country's sorry state of affairs. The fact that their next President was _fairly_ _elected_  just makes it all the worse. If there had been any doubt about the competence of American voters to choose _wisely_ , it was squashed the moment those results aired.

"You think these people come to power because it's what the world  _needs_?" Atieno argues, his brow shadowing in disbelief and his voice edging into conflict. "You know that's not how it works, old friend." Leaning back against the wall, beads of sweat roll down his temple, a loaded sigh pulling the hostility from his tone. "We cannot stop every fool who wants to play shepherd, as long there are sheep willing to follow."

The thought resonates with Frank, head bobbing in agreement. "Still. Seems Zavian and his lot are the  _least_  of your concerns, right now." 

"That's the thing.." Atieno's skull knocks back with a dull thud. "The rules  _have_  changed. And, apparently, old dogs can learn new tricks."

"What are you sayin'?"  

"That tyranny travels. And where _it_ goes, desperation and righteousness follow." Atieno's voice is cool and even in stark contrast to the damp heat oppressing them. "I'm saying that even a democratic nation, such as our own, is not immune to an Authoritarian way of life—or to the close threat of it. I'm saying that _that_ buffoon's reach may exceed his grasp, for now, but his objectives have caught the attention of some dangerous people—political zealots, and the like." Well none of that sounds good. "And while the _Powers That Be_ are caught up in the celebrations of their win, seeing clear blue skies above, I'm in a position to see the storm gathering on the horizon."

"Now hold on just a damn minute, Atty," Frank stands to close some distance between them. ”You’re outta your damn mind if you think a handful of foreign rebels—who took on a blood-soaked tyrant—are gonna cross oceans and continents to take a shot at the _President of the United States_. C’mon. It’s like you said—he's all talk. Policies change week to week. The odds of those so-called 'security measures' getting the green light are slim at best, and you know it. So why should they care, Huh? 'Cos Zavian’s a smart man. He knows how these things work—or _don't_ work. Why would he risk everything? Why would he care what happens ten thousand miles from his home? It's not his problem.” 

“Z-Faction is long since disbanded, you and I both know that, Frank. Just as we both know where it all began. The driving force, the _Man with the Plan_." He pauses, waits for Frank to chime in with the obvious—but he just sighs and looks away. “This was the first place he called _home._  He _will_ fight to protect it." 

Frank swirls the remainder of his beer, considering.  "You wanna upset my retirement, Atty, you better have a damn fine offer on the table." 

"Of course." Atieno gives a small, stiff smile, and fetches an envelope from his discarded jacket. "Full reinstatement as a Senior Undercover Operative, effective immediately.” 

Frank takes the offered envelope from his grasp. 

“Although temporary, there is a generous bounty upon completion of your assignment."

"Mhm.." Scanning the documents and downing the last of his beer Frank lobs the empty bottle towards the kitchen, sight unseen. It lands with a muted clink in the recycle bin, twelve feet away. “And what exactly _is_ my assignment, Atty, huh? My _objective_? You want me to track down Zavian—get shot, blown up, thrown off a bridge—“

“—I don’t think it will be _exactly_ like last time.”  Having wandered over to the kitchen, Atieno glances down into the bin where half a dozen bottles are cushioned by egg cartons. “How is your heart, by the way?”

“Don’t you be worryin’ about my heart. You let me worry about me an’ mine..” Finishing his scan of the papers he folds them back up, slaps them down on the counter. “Give it to me straight, Atty.”

Atieno holds his hard stare. “Find Zavian. Find whatever band of miscreants he has assembled stateside. Find out what exactly it is they are planning. Stop them before they go too far. And then stop them from ever going that far again. Stop _him_.”

“Kill him, you mean.”

Atieno straightens, squaring his shoulders, hand palming his tie to flatten it. “That is the game we play, old friend.” 

“That’s a game I left behind sixteen years ago, Atty,” Frank sighs, hand dragging down his face to try and clear his thoughts of the brain-fog-humidity induced by Global Warming. “You say he’s back, that he’s comin’ _here_. You got proof?”

“We have our whispers. Which is more than enough.”

“ _Whispers,_  yeah..” Frank taps the papers with his index finger. “All we had back in Zambora were eye-witness accounts— _sketches_. And now sixteen years to change that look.” Atty doesn't flinch. “You got surveillance—an image of some kind? Or are you just pokin’ at shadows like the paranoid spook you always were?” 

“ _Paranoid spook_ —now _that_ is quite redundant.“

“I’m not even gonna consider steppin’ back into these shadows with you Atty, not unless you can give me somethin’ concrete.”

Atieno pauses another moment, regarding Frank with careful, concealed deliberations. “A former Z-Faction member. He let slip that Zavian was bound for the states. That was three days ago.”

“And where is this 'member' now?” 

“Let’s just say he is.. on vacation. North of the equator.”

“Same old tricks.” Frank eyes the old refrigerator, wonders if he might need something stronger than a summer beer for this.  

“We have eyes. He'll be arriving through one of three international terminals," Atieno continues. "He is.. _whispered_ , to arrive by the end of the week.”

“Airports at Thanksgiving. Great.” Frank reaches into the fridge, grabs the last two beers and emerges to slide one across the counter. “And just how are plannin' on narrowing down the search from, what—? A few hundred _thousand_ people?”

Atieno smiles, and it's the first time he does so since setting foot in Frank's home. It's the same smile he always wore, back in the day: one of total confidence in his plan. It's at once reassuring and unsettling. _Spooks_. Some things never change. “Have you ever heard of the Lightman Group?”

* * *

 

_Self-righteous British bastard._

That's the sentiment stomping around Eli's head while he's stuck in archive duty for the fourth fucking weekend in a row.

He use to be _the third man_  at the Lightman Group. He was the damn founder's best Deception Detection Analyst (after the man himself, the British bastard himself, the infamous Cal Lightman) and after his most trusted employee, Dr. Foster. 

He was once reserved for top-tier analysis including lending a skilled eye to aid criminal investigations! It was a good two and a half years.  But all that changed when Eli risked everything to do what he believed to be _the right thing,_  not only putting his career on the line but his reputation, too. And now he's hanging onto both by his fingernails.

The previously embodied mantra Eli termed  _'Radical Honesty'_  left no thought or feeling unspoken. By doing so he was able to dispel any preconceptions about _who_ he was, as well as dull any potential embarrassment about _the things_ he did. Of course, there were times the truth was bound to invite some awkward moments - but lying could do just the same.

Two months ago, the Lightman Group was brought in to consult on a difficult case - not one hard of mystery, but of morals. Eli's conscience got the better of him and he choose to go behind the boss' back to do what  _he_  thought was right. Cal was strongly opposed to that, it turns out, and when he realised Eli's betrayal and what it meant for the integrity of  _his_ company? Well.. Eli was promptly chastises and demoted down to the oh-so-humbling rank of  _Intern_.

Since that fateless fucking day, Eli has withdrawn from his lived-in behavioural experiment, it having dawned on him that - all jokes aside - some things are  _worth_ lying for.

What he didn't count on was getting caught. And, yeah - he was grateful for not losing his job, but he wasn't expecting Cal's punishment to be so damn tiring. Or demeaning. Or endless. 

No pay. Longer hours filled up with tedious duties. The nature of the work assigned to him now is intended to, ‘ _dissuade any further dissent_ ’ according to Dr. Foster - who was paraphrasing Cal’s more colourful vocab, no doubt. She was sympathetic, cringing as she relayed the message, laying a hand on Eli’s arm to guide him towards an overflowing file cabinet - actually, to a _row_ of overflowing file cabinets, housed in a basement office decked out with aisle upon aisle of ominous archive shelves - _also_ overflowing. 

This was Cal’s reminder:  _All actions have consequences_. 

No shit. But this feels like he's being personally mocked: a highly trained human lie detector ordered to spend his days cozying up to mind-numbing archive duty. 

He may kinda loathe the guy right now, but he _needs_ to earn a spot back in Cal’s circle of trust to get out of this Intern hellhole. But how's he supposed to do that now that he's been banished from the ground floor?

What use was there in doing _the right thing_ if the only good that came out of it went unappreciated? It’s not as if Eli came to the decision lightly, without a thought as to what it would mean - for himself, for the company - _if_ he was caught in the lie.

But who better to sculpt a convincing lie than someone trained in the science of detecting them? 

Okay - he   _was_ at fault. Though he did _try_ to protect the company, which is what Cal is the most pissed-off about. But this  sentence he's handed down for Eli's so-called 'crime' is a burden not a learning curve, so why not just fire him? It just feels like Cal is keeping him around to get his kicks until Eli finally gets tired of this shit. Until he gives up and quits. 

And all the glancing remarks about his social life still bruise, because it has _not_ been 'unaffected'. He _does_ have a life outside of work, stuff to do on the weekends. It's just that work use to take precedence - work _use_ to be worth it. Now? Not so much. Not at all. And.. yeah, okay, maybe all that 'stuff' kinda fell by the wayside over the past couple years, which means that even if he wasn't slaving away in these dusty fucking stacks every weekend he probably _wouldn't_ have anything better to do - but he's not being given the chance to change that, either! 

Not that Cal seems to notice. Or care. With his name on the door the guy's busy with more important things - like criminal cases Eli would _kill_ to be a part of. Not that he has the stomach for that sorta thing. 

Whenever he broaches the subject of his future at the Lightman Group, Cal makes some quip about  _paying one's dues_. Which sounds kinda promising, like if maybe Eli just sticks it out a while longer Cal will ease up on the punishment. Maybe he'll be bumped up to the Ground Floor, get a spot with an actual paycheck. Thing is.. how long is 'a while longer' supposed to last? 

This job _was_ everything to him - but  _that's_  not his job anymore. And he can't get on top of the list of mindnumbing duties laid out for him because the list is literally endless! He doesn't have the chance to prove himself from here, doesn't have the chance to prove he can be trusted and that he's worth far more up there than he is down here.

He's gotta take some initiative. Maybe that's what Cal even expects from him: force Eli to break free of his shackles and prove himself - within the moral confines of the company, of course.

The guy does love a good  _long con_. 

Well.. Eli's kinda been doing the same.

He's  been keeping a low-profile for weeks, but he hasn’t been idle. He's kept his ears open and contacts greased on any cases that pass through the consultant zone upstairs. It's a long shot, but maybe he can offer some insight on a diffcult one - remind Cal of his invaluable skillset - before heading right back down to the basement with a faux-enthusiastic air, as if he doesn't mind being shoved down there for weeks on-end. Earn some brownie points.

Problem is, no such case has come through the doors. Yet. But it will need to be one where  _morals_ came into play. He could show Cal that he  _can_  separate personal feelings from work and uphold the integrity of the company. 

Eli will prove his worth and his loyalty, and not be a simple slave to his emotions. He can put the work first and keep his own conscience in reserve. He can be honest with those who need it most, and not let secrets and mind-games jeopardise cases or relationships ( _work_ relationships, since yes, okay, he has no personal life to speak of). 

It's a decent plan, no grovelling involved at all. All he needs is a break. If he can just get _one_ break maybe things will start to get back to some semblance of normal. Because he could quit. He could find another job.. But he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to work anywhere else, do anything else. And as his life stands, if he doesn't have this job (his _old_ job), then he pretty much has _bugger all_ , as one British bastard would put it. 

 

The static of the old radio crackles as the current innings sound through the stacks, before a commercial follows on. 

_KNBR_  is the only station with reception in the basement. The commentators and cheering crowd have been like white noise, something to drown out the dusty silence and _chug-chug_ of the air vents. Eli can't be blamed for starting to root for the home team with more enthusiasm than he usually would. If this is what his weekends are reduced to for the foreseeale future then he deserves some sort of reprieve among the endless file sorting - and yelling at players who can't hear him, doing victory-hops at every other base? It may very well help him keep his sanity. 

The archive room is sizeable. Larger than Eli’s own apartment and definitely too big for one person to catalogue all on their own. He ballparks that he will be down here for the rest of the year, if he's left alone to it. He'll probably develop a Vitamin D deficiency and late onset asthma from inhaling three decades of dust, too.

A _case_. He just needs a _case_. 

From what he's been able to gather from upstairs, the only consulting gigs to come through the doors in the past two months have been personal favours handled by either Cal or Dr. Foster, a few requests to read a cheating spouse on the down-low, and some commission to do a write-up on the 'comparison of microexpressions between twin French Bulldogs' (one of which was blind, the other deaf) whose eccentric and wealthy owner had insisted it be made a top priority. 

Not that that was a case, but he'd actually gotten his hopes up when Cal had swept by with a 'special assignment' in need of a 'top analyst'. Idiot. He actually thought there was some high-profile case that needed _his_ specific attention. The snicker of his colleagues should've been a clue that that was the furthest thing from the truth. 

 

_The Giants_ strike out at the bottom of the 9th. Taking his frustration out on the wastebasket turns out to be a terrible idea. He  trips over his own laces, falling backwards over a trolley (of no-longer-neatly-sorted files, _dammit!_ ) and grabs a line of shelving to take with him on the way down. It's been an uneventful couple of months. He was probably due for the hit. 

Shoving at the mess he manages to hoist himself upright, painfully so, and take stock of the damage: In only five seconds he'd managed to undo an entire weekend of work, as well as dump an entire shelf of unsorted files boxes into the mix.

Great. 

Twenty minutes left of this hell-shift and he just wants to go home. But he can't leave things like this. Cal always checks in on Monday morning to make sure he's _still sluggin' away_ \- or gets the mailman or custodian to check for him, whatever. If Cal finds this mess he might just demote him even further down the ranks - if that's even possible. He'll no doubt find some way to run him more ragged than he already is. 

Bruises. Bruises are forming. Brain is hurting. Radio is fritzing in pieces on the carpet - yet somehow still forcing sound through the disjointed speaker. Country music. Eli _hates_ country music. So he can hardly be blamed for taking a running kick at it, sending it into the opposite wall to break apart into silence. 

That was a bad idea - torso hurts more now. _Breathing_ hurts. But his pocket is buzzing so he sinks to the carpet with a groan, pulls out his phone - and of course it's not good news. Why would it be? Not like he needs a break, or anything. Just his landlord reminding him he needs to pony-up the backlog of rent or.. _shit_. Two weeks, then he'll be out of a place to live.

A hand moves to his head, his back, his arms, searching for blood as he stares down at his phone. The thought of returning to his not-quite-home makes his stomach drop. Suddenly he prefers the bumps and bruises. 

Upturning all the boxes and dumping whatever files he can reach back in, he shoves everything back on the shelves. He'll deal with it on Monday. If it _looks_ orderly then that's good enough for now. 

Flicking the lights on his way out, floor cleared and radio fragments trashed, he laughs. It's hollow and bitter and totally justified. The state of his life had taken a sharp turn downhill, and why? Because he tried to do the right thing. 

For his work, Eli has long been witness to destructive secrets. They were the reason he started up the whole _Radical Honesty_  thing to begin with. It was his way of diffusing potential problems before they became combustive. Be forthright - _about everything,_  personally speaking.

When it came to the secrets of others he knew how to spot a liar. He knew how to read the truth between the lines on their face and every word they spoke. Which means he knew how to sell a lie, if he wanted to. If he really _needed_ to. And he had needed to. But he should've known better than to try and fool the _Great Cal Lightman_.

It hadn't been for himself, though, that's the thing: he lied to protect someone _else_ , to help someone who would've lost everything if the truth came out. For the first time, lying had seemed worth the sacrifice of telling the truth - because more would be saved. He never thought lying for the right reasons would see things go so wrong, but he was now sure that telling the truth wasn’t always the best choice.

 _Radical Honesty_  was a failed experiment. He'd learned that some truths were better left unsaid.

It's been two months since the truth had downgraded Eli’s quality of life from _‘_ comfortable and fulfilled _’_ to _‘_ why must I suffer for a good deed? _’_. Two months since he'd lost faith in the merit of simple truths. Being honest was _not_  simple, afterall. It pained him to admit, but he had come to know the harsh reality of Cal’s words: _Truth or Happiness. Never both_.

Yeah. No kidding. 

A fat rain drop lands on his neck as he unlocks his Raleigh from the bike rack. Riding home in the rain. Sure. Why not? Mud splashes to stain his clothes, bruises under those stains, an empty fridge waiting at home that _won't_ be home in a couple of weeks.. Maybe he'll find something - a case, _anything_ \- to convince Cal to ease up on his punishment, but that could a while. Too long. He'll need to figure out an income in the meantime. Should've figured it out already, but he was holding out hope for a miracle at work. Stupid, really. Plus, the internship is full-time. He doesn't have the hours to spare for a part-time job.

Maybe he can put up some flyers, offer his services to the general public - for a fee. Not a bad idea, though Cal would probably have something to say about it. Something decidedly _not_ -supportive. He might even kick Eli to the curb for it if he's done torturing him and really doesn't want him back upstairs, _ever_. He'd definitely have time for a paying job then. But any hope of working his way back up to the Ground Floor of the Lightman Group would probably be tossed out the window for good.  

More raindrops slip beneath his collar as he rounds a corner, car splashing up the first puddles onto his chinos. He pedals on. 

A _break_. He just needs a _break_.

 


End file.
